"Tweedle dee! tweedle dum! tweedle dee."
"And _now_ we will go into breakfast," cried Lucy, with sudden
airy cheerfulness, and, almost with the word, she darted up the steps,
and entered the house without even looking to see whether David
followed or what became of him.
He stood gazing through the open door at her as she glided across the
hall, swift and elastic, yet serpentine, and graceful and stately as
Juno at nineteen.
"Et vera iucessu patuit lady."
These Junones, severe in youthful beauty, fill us Davids with
irrational awe; but, the next moment, they are treated like small
children by the very first matron they meet; they resign their
judgment at once to hers, and bow their wills to her lightest word
with a slavish meanness.
Creation's unmarried lords, realize your true position--girls govern
you, and wives govern girls.
Mrs. Bazalgette, on Lucy's entrance, ran a critical eye over her, and
scolded her like a six-year-old for walking in thin shoes.
"Only on the gravel, aunt," said the divine slave, submissively.
"No matter; it rained last night. I heard it patter. You want to be
laid up, I suppose."
"I will put on thicker ones in future, dear aunt," murmured the
celestial serf.
Now Mrs. Bazalgette did not really care a button whether the servile
angel wore thick soles or thin. She was cross about something a mile
off that. As soon as she had vented her ill humor on a sham cause, she
could come to its real cause good-temperedly.
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